What's in the Steamer Trunk?
From my tummy flew three ghosts—
charcoal, umber, midnight blue,
plus a balloon-like little red one
from a coffee cup near the radio.
I was small and did not know
their names, or of finding nothing
at Aboutness Bluff but clues, remains:
a tattered shirt, shoes—compass? Ha ha.
I liked the little red one’s blah blah
best till pop! The rest hung around
scarily, like bats, but one by one
did speak to me eventually.
Those yellow pads prove it, see?
Data stacks, hives, volcanoes sleeping—
you pick. On second thought, better not.
Hey, what’s on TV?
Quiet, ghosts. Lie down with me
in front of morning chatter shows.
We’ll learn how to crack & cook
an egg & that does it for the day.
Dusk, on the stoop, sauced with my
cigar, I’ll send you all packing
in puffs of smoke. Farewell, ghosts,
farewell. I’ll leave the lava lamp on.